


Mourning Dove

by MissMae



Category: EXO (Band), SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Bullying, Dissociative Identity Disorder, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-05-28 07:32:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6320191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMae/pseuds/MissMae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taemin realizes that this man might love soccer as much as, if not more than, he loves dancing.</p><p>AKA- Taemin has a lot of baggage and his new roommate, Minho, is there to help him learn what it means to move on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Please, for the love of God, take the warnings seriously. 
> 
> Also, this prologue is OPTIONAL. You do need to read it to fully understand the context of the rest of the work, but whether your read it now, halfway through, or at the end is up to you. I will say, though, this prologue is not representative of the flow, characterization, and overall writing style of the rest of the story. If you want to be wowed, I suggest you read the first chapter then come back to the prologue so it's not as sluggish and unorganized. 
> 
> Sorry if that throws anyone off--I just put my heart, soul, blood, sweat, tears, etc. into the rest of this work and put a couple energy drinks and a sappy meltdown over college into the prologue. You get what you give, right?

There is no better phrase in the entire universe to Lee Taemin than “a fresh start.” It reeks of plasticity and fresh-cut cucumbers and getting a new apartment in the center of Seongdong-do--okay, maybe a run-down, shared apartment on the outskirts of Seongdong-do--and nothing can get in his way of feeling reborn on the day of his high school graduation. 

Taemin watches everything he abhors about high school--the shitty lunches, the homophobic peers he was forced to study with, the judging stares and glares from all the teachers--burst into flames and reach up with final cowardly efforts to become embers in the night sky. He considered inviting the one friend he feels he can somewhat converse with on a weekly basis--a tall, awkward self-proclaimed composing master by the name of Kim Wonshik--to his symbolic yearbook burning bonfire, but thought better of it because Wonshik is on his way to some international music school and Taemin can never foresee actually keeping in touch with him. So he burns his senior yearbook by himself in the comfort of the small weed-infested field outside his apartment complex.

He sits, dutifully watching the controlled fire to make sure it actually stays controlled, and ponders the next step he is about to take in his life. Against all odds, he’d landed a perfectly solid place at Hanyang University’s dance program and actually started to see something worth living for in his life recently. That letter had been the one to change his life--the one that said a big F U to his parents, the one that proved to not only his peers, but himself, that he is worth something.

And so, as he gazes at the languid way the embers turn into stars, he thinks about his new life. His fresh start.

It hadn’t been so bad at first. 

People whispered when they saw him enter the room and he would sense an all too-familiar blush creep up on his neck and face and spread into the tips of his ears. But that was at the very beginning, when he first came out. It had been on accident, really. In his first year of high school, he acted upon the sexuality that he discovered was so backwards to everyone else with a lanky, but beautiful teen named Kim Jongin. They had been reaching second base in the gymnasium bathroom when someone noticed two pairs of feet under the stall door and called for the coach.

His life was never the same after that. What he thought was just an innocent venture into his own identity turned into the stuff of nightmares.

But still, in the beginning it wasn’t so bad. He hid his face when people came around the corner and kept his mouth shut when people made the odd off-color joke referring to his sexuality, but all of that would have been preferable to Post-Kai.

Jongin turned out to be, in all variations, deviations, and connotations of the phrase, a pain in the ass. Actually, that didn’t even do it justice. Jongin--well, the singular facet of himself that appeared--was... evil. Pure, unadulterated evil. 

The first thing Jongin did after being found out in the boys’ bathroom was to deny every accusation and say that Taemin had forced him to kiss the latter and that Taemin deserved to be bullied for being a sinner and a rapist. While Taemin often debated the first of those accusations in his mind, he never, not once, did anything with Jongin without consent. Instead, it turned out to be Jongin who was responsible for that title.

Well, not precisely Jongin himself.

About two months after being found in the gymnasium bathroom, it seemed Jongin would no longer be satisfied by the light teasing and public harassment he often forced upon Taemin. Rather, one thing lead to another, and Taemin was right back in that same bathroom stall with a boy who looked and felt and smelled like Jongin, but was not the same boy he had a crush on at the beginning of the year. No, Jongin was long gone and had been replaced by a cruel devil named Kai.

Taemin had begged and begged and begged for Jongin to stop, that he would do anything, pay anything, just not with his body. Not like this. But when he cried out his long string of apologies and pleas, Jongin had pulled Taemin back by the hair, forced him to kneel and look at him in those deep, black eyes of his, and said, “My name is Kai and I won’t stop.”

And so he didn’t.

During the three subsequent months after that, Kai had taken Jongin’s harassment and teasing to a completely different level. Taemin didn’t know what had happened to Jongin mentally, but he guessed it had to do something with the pressure from his friends and family to be straight. Taemin liked to imagine that maybe his dad beat him or that his friends threatened to make him a social pariah, because then there would be at least some excuse for Kai to exist. Taemin had done hours upon hours of research, trying to somehow diagnose Jongin with multiple personality disorder or the like, and had concluded that there was, at the very least, something not normal about him.

Taemin offered to help Jongin many times. He even offered to help Kai, too, but Jongin was the one who’d listen sometimes. They even made it so far as the parking lot of the psychiatrist’s office before Kai had roughly pushed him into the backseat and punished him for wanting to get rid of him.

The worst part of the whole thing wasn’t even Kai himself, it was everyone around him. It was the way they didn’t see the real story, didn’t know how much pain he and Jongin were in, didn’t know how fucked up the whole situation was. It was the words that went unspoken that hurt Taemin the most. At least before Kai, he still had friends he could go to when in need and parents that still talked to him. 

But when people caught sight of the bruises, the hickeys, the way his eyes were constantly bloodshot, the world suddenly got quiet around him. People would get quiet whenever he entered a room. No one accepted his attempts to start a conversation, not even his lab partner. Even the teachers refused to call on him in class and tried to get out of the room as quickly as possible when Taemin tried to get after-school help as his grades started falling.

It was so utterly, painfully quiet.

Eventually, Jongin’s parents found out about Kai when the latter had tried to sexually assault his younger sister, and they had not only demanded psychological treatment, but funded it and made donations to several organizations that promoted awareness of mental illness. Kai stopped coming after Taemin thanks to them, but he soon realized Jongin was still too much of a coward to come forward about what had been done to Taemin. And Taemin, all too shriveled up in his quiet, quiet world, didn’t see a way to make people believe him.

His parents kicked him out of the house, which was just fine with him since they had become increasingly insufferable about his grades and sexuality, but other than that, things gradually simmered down. Jongin left him alone after that. He avoided Taemin’s eye contact in the hallways and never, not once, offered up an apology. Taemin figured it was for the best. He wasn’t sure if he could find it in him to forgive Jongin, even though he knew it wasn’t the boy’s fault--it was Kai’s.

Despite the way Taemin’s bruises and cuts healed, eventually returning his skin to its previous milky-white glory, people at school never treated him the same. 

It was only in his second year did he find some means to deal with the stress and pressure of it all. Looking back on it, Taemin never did understand why he hadn’t killed himself between the time with Kai to the point where he met Wonshik, but he was glad he never went through with it.

It was a rainy Tuesday afternoon and Taemin wanted to do nothing but go home. Unfortunately, the buses had been delayed due to the horrible weather, and Taemin was left to sulk inside. He meandered through the halls, avoiding people as usual, when he stumbled into the fine arts wing. He’d never really visited this side of the school, which was just fine with him, but he soon found that it became his favorite place to be. 

He had found Wonshik in the music room messing around on a set of drums. He was bad. Really, really bad. But Taemin stuck around when he realized 1) Wonshik hadn’t seen him and 2) there were packaged snacks that looked like leftovers from a party in the corner. Taemin sat down and began eating, wrapper noise dulled out by the pounding of the drums, and settled in behind a massive stack of chairs and a set of timpani drums. Eventually, Wonshik moved from the drum kit to something he was actually decent at--the keyboard. And from there, someone walked in. Taemin nearly vomited at the sight of Jongin. 

He really, really shouldn’t be here was his first thought. But as Jongin leaned forward and kissed the tip of Wonshik’s nose, he was frozen to the core. He gripped the wrapper in his hand so tight his knuckles began to throb from the force. And then Wonshik waddled over to the giant boombox in the other corner and Taemin knew this was probably the last chance he had to get out. He should say something, announce himself. He should apologize and sheepishly carry out some of the snacks with him because it had been two weeks since his last visit to the grocery store. He should get out. Right. Now.

But he couldn’t. Because as soon as Wonshik put on a dance song with heavy thumping bass that Taemin vaguely recognized as something popular in the music scene today, Jongin began to dance. Taemin was mesmerized immediately by the way his fluid motions captured the very essence of the song itself, how every muscle and bone was dedicated to every jump, step, and turn. 

More than anything else in the world, Taemin wished he could do that. And so, when Wonshik congratulated him as the song finished and Jongin looked upset and told him to play it again because “I messed up a few places. I need to go again,” Taemin tried to memorize every single movement. He wasn’t sure how long they were all in there, but when Wonshik finally told Jongin it was getting late and they should leave, Taemin watched them go, willing them with his eyes and possibly the Force to get out of there even faster. He stood up and stretched, his limbs aching impossibly from sitting in one place for so long, and headed over to the boombox. The iPod that had been playing the song was still plugged in, so Taemin timidly pressed play and found the familiar melody reach his ears.

And then, after triple checking that no one else was around, he began to dance. The song had thankfully been put on repeat by Wonshik and Jongin, so all Taemin had to do in between replays was catch his breath and take a sip of water from the fountain right outside the music room. He watched himself in the mirror the same way Jongin did, and found that, surprisingly, he knew most of the choreography by heart. Actually doing it was a different story, though. At first, he felt awkward and like he had two left feet, but eventually he paused the music and went through each move individually at a slower pace. 

By two in the morning, he was brilliant. He finally stopped when his body refused to let him go further, and when he looked at the time, he realized the buses going his way had stopped, and he most certainly didn’t think his exhausted body could carry him all the way home. So he lay down right there on the dirty floor of the music room, hoping by some miracle it would be Jongin that found him in the morning, and that they could apologize and Taemin could show him the dance he’d copied from him.

Unfortunately, when 7:30 rolled around, it wasn’t Jongin who found him, but Wonshik. And Wonshik was more than surprised when Taemin avidly talked to him and asked him questions all about the music department and if the school had a dance class. Taemin didn’t even register the fact that Wonshik actually answered him until he was on his way to the registrar’s office to sign up for the dance class. It was just his luck, too, because the class was offered during his free period.

Taemin didn’t know whether it was luck or not, however, when he was squeezed into the beginner’s class with the freshman a year younger than him and Jongin was not present at all. He so desperately wanted to reach out to him, to ask him if he was okay, how his treatments had gone, if he and Wonshik were happy, and most importantly, to show him the dance he’d learned. But he never saw him in the fine arts wing again and realized belatedly that Jongin didn’t go to dance class at school at all, rather, he went to a professional studio after school in his spare time.

This didn’t stop Taemin from improving, though. He ran into Wonshik a few dozen times throughout the rest of the school year and was incredibly happy to have someone who, albeit not often at all, actually talked to him. He heard via eavesdropping and eventually from Wonshik’s mouth itself that he and Jongin had broken up after three months of dating, and incredibly, the student population sort of accepted that fact. Taemin thought it was incredibly and undoubtedly unfair that when he “came out,” people pointed and laughed and shunned him, but when Jongin and Wonshik dated and then subsequently broke up, people still pointed and laughed, but in no way shunned them. In fact, Taemin thought it was so unfair that he quit dance for a good three weeks and didn’t eat for the first of those, until Wonshik talked some sense back into him.

After that, Taemin realized he just had to accept it. His past was in the past and, although he was the victim in every situation, no one knew that except him and Jongin. After all, high school was only temporary.

Which is what Taemin reflects upon during the graduation ceremony and again as the stars blink back at him the same fire that is not only ripping apart his yearbook, but is in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape, or form condoning sexual abuse/rape/violence. This is a work of fiction that was brought on by personal experience with anxiety, sexual abuse, and artistic license. Also, I do not have dissociative identity disorder, nor know anyone who does. This may not be an accurate representation of DID. Again, artistic license.


	2. Part I - Chapter I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Taemin regards this Choi Minho for a moment. He remembers vaguely seeing two profiles with the name Minho, but can’t distinguish if he was the one with the hobbies of eating, playing video games, and whistling the entire Jurassic Park theme, or of playing soccer and acting._

A very natural, primal instinct tells Taemin that an online matching site is not how he should find his new roommate, but the university recommends it because it allows in-depth profiles and pictures linked directly to their SNS accounts so each prospective roomie can find out everything there is to know about the other. 

Taemin hates it. It reminds him of old dating game re-runs his dad used to have on the TV in the late afternoon when he came home from school. But if that’s what the university recommends, he goes for it despite the pots and pans banging together in the back of mind telling him to just meet someone in person, on campus, and get to know them.

He isn’t surprised when his first 100% match is a senior year student whose description mentions words like “silence,” “lights out at eleven,” and “if you don’t clean up after yourself, I’ll cover your sheets with Vaseline.” Taemin shudders and clicks the block button. 

He decides that maybe going on campus won’t hurt after all. Considering he’d be living and breathing the place for the next four years, it’d probably be best to scope everything out before orientation, too.

The first place he goes to, of course, is the fine arts hall. The building is surprisingly full with summer classes, and he can hear the soft murmurs of the composition classes and, occasionally, the boisterous laughter from the theatre classes. It’s not that he dislikes either of these things, it’s just that he far prefers the laid back, casual nature of dancers and the way they can all find harmony in their bodies without words or too much effort. 

The dance studio is unbelievably gorgeous. The floor echoes under his feet when he steps in, like a dance floor should, and there are barres on the floor-to-ceiling mirrors for the ballet students. There are maybe twenty people in there, but that doesn’t even begin to fill up the room. It’s appropriately spacious for a professional dance studio, and Taemin is suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of belonging and blessing. 

That is, until, a very familiar voice calls out his name in wary shock.

“Taemin? Lee Taemin?”

He whips his head around and tries to match the face of the person who called his name, and feels a very troubling combination of fear, hope, remorse, and sadness when he recognizes the person as none other than Kim Jongin.

Taemin begins to tremble, and Jongin must have sensed his discomfort because he tells the instructor, who has begun to eye Taemin suspiciously, that he’ll be right back.

“Taemin? What are you doing here?” Jongin asks him, half-walking, half-jogging up to the entrance of the studio to meet Taemin. His voice is full of concern and question, and Taemin desperately wants to answer him, tell him he’s officially a student here and that he’s been studying dance for the past two years, yet finds his lungs completely devoid of any air.

In his mind, he’d prepared himself several times, complete with different versions, to tell Jongin the next time he saw him that he forgave him and wished him well in his life. But seeing Jongin here, completely catching him off-guard at the place he suddenly realizes, with a sense of dread in his stomach, that he’ll be spending the next four years, he can’t seem to make the words come out.

“Um. Do you want to go outside?” Jongin asks him, and Taemin mentally thanks him for recognizing his inability to speak in the suddenly very crowded room where the instructor is _still eyeing him, oh my God, why is he still staring?_

Jongin tentatively puts a hand on Taemin’s shoulder, bringing him back to the reality he had momentarily lost. Taemin nods, tries to put on his best smile, and follows Jongin out the door. They not only leave the studio, but also exit the hall, go through a large atrium where a few students are milling about, and outside to a small courtyard that is conveniently vacant.

“So... you okay?” Jongin asks him, and Taemin realizes this is the most Jongin has ever said to him in almost three years. It’s shocking to him, really, but that’s not what’s important right now.

He nods and opens his mouth and only when Jongin sits both of them down does he say, “I’m a student here now.”

Jongin smiles at that, and Taemin looks deeply into his eyes for the first time in a long time and sees that not only is he genuinely happy for Taemin, but there is also a good measure of pain and guilt locked up in his expression.

“That’s great! What are you studying?” Jongin questions, and Taemin feels very weirdly normal. He’s having a very normal conversation in a very normal university courtyard with a not-so-normal boy, but what matters is that Jongin is _acting_ very normal, which makes Taemin want to hurl as well as hug him and tell him that they’ve been through a lot, but everything is alright now.

“Dance,” is what comes out instead, and he can feel the growing perplexity in Jongin’s very presence.

“Dance? You dance?” Jongin asks him, but there is nothing condescending or malicious in his tone. Instead, he sounds solely curious.

Taemin nods and breaks out into a smile. He also feels a desperate urge to tell Jongin that he found his passion for dance because of him, and because he suddenly feels infinitely more comfortable now that the conversation has shifted to dancing, he does. He eagerly tells Jongin about how he stayed in the music room that one night and copied Jongin’s entire routine and immediately fell in love with the art of dancing. He leaves out everything to do with Kai and Wonshik and the hurtful part of their past.

“You seriously copied my entire routine from watching it, what, ten times?” Jongin asks him breathlessly. Taemin can see now in Jongin’s eyes a slight pride and awe that leaves Taemin’s insides all muddled. 

Taemin shrugs at the question. “It wasn’t that hard. I stayed up practicing all night, though, and slept in the music room,” he says, trying to make it seem like it hadn’t been one of the hardest, yet most exhilarating, things he’d ever done.

“That’s amazing!” Jongin cries out, and everything feels so surreal to Taemin. “Can I see?” he suddenly asks, and Taemin falters.

“What, your routine?” he questions, and Jongin laughs.

“No, silly. It’s been two years since then. I wouldn’t expect you to remember that. I meant can I see you dance? Anything is fine--I need to know if I have competition for my team captain position,” he says, and Taemin feels his heart freeze over in his chest.

“You go here?” he asks, and he realizes belatedly that _yes, of course he goes here, stupid! Why do you think he was in the dance studio with a class?_

Jongin smiles, though. “Yeah, I’ve been taking clinics here at the university since... well... since after _him,”_ he breathes, and pauses to run a hand through his hair. “My parents thought it would be a good idea to have some sort of extracurricular thing to take some stress off, like a sport or a musical instrument, but I loved dancing the best,” he says, and suddenly his smile picks back up, but Taemin can tell it’s not as genuine as the one before. He knows Jongin is still hurting.

“Are you... are you okay?” Taemin asks him, even though he knows he probably shouldn’t.

Jongin drops his gaze from the middle of Taemin’s forehead to the ground, where he picks at the grass deliberately. Taemin can see the doubt and guilt wash over him.

“I will be. One day,” he finally answers, and Taemin’s heart swells with pain.

“I forgive you, you know,” he tells him, and suddenly Jongin has jerked up in surprise and confusion and is staring at him like he has three heads. “It was never your fault. Don’t beat yourself up so bad.”

By now Taemin’s throat is sore from talking so much; he hasn’t said this much in so long that he physically feels himself reach some sort of voice quality plateau.

“Thank you,” Jongin breathes, and the look his gives Taemin has the latter gasping for air. “Thank you,” he whispers again, and suddenly he is in tears, his head in his hands, grossly sobbing, and Taemin looks around to make sure no one is staring (no one is). He then reaches out a shaky hand to meet Jongin’s back and dutifully pats it, letting him know it’s okay without actually saying the words.

“I was mad for a long time,” Taemin begins while Jongin is shaking underneath him, “but I realized after a while I wasn’t mad at all. I was just hurt. And I knew that you were, too. It wasn’t you that.. did those things. It was Kai. It wasn’t you and I had no right to be mad at you, so you shouldn’t be mad at yourself, either, Jongin,” he says quietly like the world turning depends on him getting his feelings across to Jongin, and the latter nods appreciatively, but still sobs.

They stay like that for a while, Jongin crying, the occasional sniffle making its way out, with Taemin’s hand warmly rubbing his back. Eventually, though, the air slightly changes and the shadows get a bit longer, and Jongin sits back up, eyes completely red and puffy, and smiles sheepishly.

“Thank you, Taemin,” he whispers since his voice has gone hoarse. “I didn’t know how much I needed to hear that from you. Thank you.”

And then he is hugging Taemin, and Taemin finds himself reluctantly familiar with his touch and scent and brown mop of hair and suddenly it is _too much, he needs to go, he needs to leave. Right. Now._

“J-Jongin!” he stutters, seizing up in place, and that feeling of not being able to breathe accosts him again. “Please, let go,” he manages to say, and Jongin immediately reels back, panic written across his face.

Taemin can feel his pulse in his hears and sees it in the way Jongin’s image in front of him pumps bigger on the _lub-dub._ He latches onto Jongin’s arm with his right hand and looks out into the space in front of him. It’s suddenly very quiet and it feels like his ears are filled with heavy cotton. He looks back at Jongin’s figure which is saying something to him--shouting even--but Taemin can’t for the life of him tell what he’s saying, so he furrows his brow and focuses on the cotton in his ears and the feeling of Jongin’s nails desperately digging into his. He thinks he asks Jongin “What’s happening?” but he can’t be sure because his voice sounds slow and thick in his ears. 

And then Jongin is turning around, waving madly with his free arm, and Taemin has no freaking idea what is going on, other than the fact that a teacher soon comes over with an equally panicked face. The teacher asks him something, he thinks, but again he has no idea what has been said, so he furrows his brow and clings to Jongin some more.

The teacher grabs at his face to get his attention and that is suddenly all it takes for Taemin to jump back in fear and curl into a little ball on the ground. He doesn’t remember what happens next though, because from there his world is black from his shut eyes and quivering body.

**********

When Taemin wakes up, he’s in an unfamiliar place with bright flourescent lights and he realizes his ears are no longer filled with cotton becuase he can hear beeps and shuffling and low muttering around him.

“Lee Taemin?” a voice calls to him, and he turns sharply away from the ceiling and to the face a wiry man in a white coat.

“Yes?” he replies, his voice noticeably croaky and sore.

“How are you feeling?” the man asks him, and Taemin takes a second to ask himself that. His breathing is just fine and his pulse is normal, so he makes a more-or-less satisfied face to the nurse.

“Alright,” he answers. The nurse purses his lips and flips through a clipboard before turning back to him.

“Do you remember what happened earlier today?” he asks Taemin, and the latter ponders it briefly. He was in the courtyard with Jongin, and he had finally gotten to apologize. But then, suddenly, his senses betrayed him.

“I was with another student-”

“Kim Jongin?” the nurse asks, and Taemin nods to confirm.

“Yes, I was with Kim Jongin, and we were talking, but suddenly I couldn’t breathe or hear anything. Did I pass out?” he asks. The nurse frowns.

“Basically. What you experienced was a very strong panic attack. Have you ever had one before?” the nurse asks him. Taemin pouts and shakes his head. “Panic attacks are usually caused by some sort of trigger--that is, something that would cause your body to tense up and go into shock because you might not be able to deal with it mentally or emotionally. Is there anything you can think of that might have been a trigger for you just before you couldn’t breathe?”

Taemin really thinks about this, more so than the last few questions. He examines his conversation with Jongin in his mind’s eye and realizes that, yes, he had begun to freak out when Jongin hugged him.

“I think... I think I didn’t want to be... touched,” he slowly tells the nurse, who nods and dutifully scribbles on the clipboard. “There was a teacher, too, who tried to hold my face and that was right before I... passed out I guess,” Taemin says, grimacing at the thought of what it must have looked like to Jongin and the teacher.

“Well, your teacher and Mr. Kim brought you here, so I’d thank them later. I’d recommend seeing a psychologist about this, though. Panic attacks are extremely serious,” the nurse informs him, and Taemin shudders. Even after Kai, he felt he was fine without a psychologist. But one little episode and suddenly he needs to go to a shrink?

“Okay. Thank you,” he says politely to the nurse, who eyes him once before hanging up the clipboard and exiting the room. 

Taemin takes a good look at his surroundings, then, and affirms that he is, in fact, in the university infirmary. The fact that he got his own private room must mean something, but Taemin isn’t too certain what.

Some time passes--Taemin isn’t too sure how much--and he half expects Jongin to walk through the door and make sure he’s okay, or maybe even his parents if the staff had gotten around to calling them, but neither of those things happen. The nurse comes back in and hands him a recommendation note to a psychologist and tells him he can go.

Taemin feels odd as he walks out of the infirmary, like he’s missing something, but thinks better of it and tries to orient himself on campus. 

He realizes as he’s halfway home that he’d completely forgotten to try and find a potential roommate.

***********

There is a knock on the apartment door the next morning and Taemin utterly despises himself for staying up until one clicking through profiles on the match site. He groans and slides himself out from under the covers, glancing at the clock that reads 8:00 AM on the dot. Taemin can’t remember what day of the week it is, but it’s summer now and knocking on people’s doors before at least ten should be illegal.

“Yes?” he shouts at the door instead, scratching at the dead skin under his track pants and tank top.

“Is this Lee Taemin?” a voice shouts back at him, and Taemin pauses, cocking his head. He’s never heard that voice before, but it’s a low, rich voice that somehow sounds very awake for this early in the morning.

“Depends. Who are you?” Taemin shouts back, firmly intrigued by the stranger on the other side of the door. 

“Choi Minho,” the voice replies. “I’m from the match site? Er... the roommate search site?” Minho says, and Taemin can practically hear him scratch the back of his neck in the tone of his voice.

Taemin passes his bathroom mirror and attempts to fix his hair the best he can. Yesterday had been a hallmark in what not to do when attempting to fix, or at least gather all the pieces to, a very broken relationship. Taemin hates that word, _relationship._ It makes every single not-friendship he’s ever had sound like a romantic venture when he’s positive the relationship he’d had with Wonshik was just barely below the friendship line. 

“Why didn’t you just message me?” Taemin asks Minho as he opens the door and sticks his head out, not letting the stranger catch sight of his apartment. No, Taemin decides, he’ll have to earn that.

Minho, who turns out to be a fairly tall man with a fairly pretty face, smiles sheepishly, and Taemin thinks he probably just now realized that not many people are up and at ‘em at eight in the morning like he is.

“My laptop died last night and I wanted to get to you as soon as possible. You’ve probably had a hundred people asking you to be their roommate,” Minho says, and Taemin is taken aback by the frank, yet kind way he talks.

Taemin is about to say something about how, contrary to popular belief, having the words “I don’t party” in his description actually turns people away, but then he realizes what Minho has just said.

“Wait. Your laptop died?” he asks, and Minho nods eagerly. “But can’t you just... plug it in?”

Minho winces at this. “My current roommate kind of... made that impossible,” he replies, and Taemin squints at him. Minho continues at his silence, “He threw it out the window. We live on the fifth floor.”

Taemin raises a brow and Minho becomes very sheepish. “He was drunk,” he explains, and Taemin’s brow rises even higher. “Okay, he’s kind of just a general asshole who doesn’t want me to move out. But that’s why I need to! Soon, if possible.”

Taemin regards this Choi Minho for a moment. He remembers vaguely seeing two profiles with the name Minho, but can’t distinguish if he was the one with the hobbies of eating, playing video games, and whistling the entire Jurassic Park theme, or of playing soccer and acting.

“Do you like Jurassic Park?” he decides to ask him, and Minho, looking slightly bewildered, shakes his head no. “Fantastic. How soon is soon?” he asks him in reference to his previous statement, and opens the door wide enough to let his new acquaintance in behind him.

“Er... hopefully this week,” Minho answers, closing the door behind him and taking off his shoes. Taemin is glad the guy has manners and goes to the kitchen table, offering the other seat to Minho who gladly takes it. In the morning light that seeps in through the very, very small kitchen window, Taemin can see the man’s slightly tan skin peeking out from under an athletic tank top. He tries not to stare too long at the guy’s biceps. 

Taemin had worked hard getting furniture and paying rent. His parents left him absolutely nothing, so he found one of the entry-level apartments in a cheaper part of town and tried to settle in with the dull surroundings. During the first five months he promised the landlord he’d be good and paid down half the rent from his precious savings account (three shoe boxes under his bed). He desperately flagged down any odd job he could find, and he eventually made it afloat by caring for an elderly couple who paid out the wazoo for him to serve them tea and water the plants and feed their cats and later, after they passed, washing dishes and taking orders at two separate part-time jobs. 

“Have you looked into any places yet? I know on my profile it says I’d prefer off-campus because of the cost,” he tells Minho as they sit in the small kitchen which seems to be at maximum occupancy with two people. 

“Yes, I agree, the housing on campus is a crime,” Minho laughs, and Taemin nearly falls off his chair at the beauty of the man’s smile. “I actually found one close to the university for a pretty good price. Can you do 600,000 won a month?” Minho asks him, and Taemin bites his lip. The current apartment he’s living in is only about 400,000 a month, including utilities, and he’s been able to buy some things on the side, like furniture and clothes. He figures that a hike in 200,000 won can’t be that bad since he’ll be in a nicer place as a university student with amenities like the infirmary he was in yesterday.

Speaking of which, Taemin’s eyes roam to the kitchen counter where he’d put the shrink recommendation for his panic attacks, and suddenly he realizes that Minho would probably never agree to room with him if he found out. He prays he doesn’t.

“Sure, I can do 600,000,” Taemin says, hoping his wandering eyes don’t betray him, and fortunately they don’t because Minho has offered up his cell phone.

“Let’s exchange numbers so we can go see the place later this week?” Minho says, the end of his sentence turning up like a question mark. Taemin nods and enters his info, handing his own flip phone to Minho to do the same in the meantime.

“Wow, nice phone,” he remarks sarcastically, and Taemin grimaces. “I was just kidding, sorry. I like it, actually. Keeps you youthful.” Taemin is altogether confused by that statement when he realizes that Minho probably memorized his profile and knows his age.

“How old are you, again?” he asks, and Minho smiles, the corners of his lips edging up into his cheeks and spilling over into the laugh lines by his chocolate eyes.

“Twenty-one,” he replies. “I’m a junior.” Taemin nods and hands Minho’s phone back to him. “Well, thanks for this, roomie!” he says brightly, and Taemin wonders if the man realizes how cheesy he sounds.

“Sure, I’m glad to have met someone so fast,” he replies, and soon he is walking Minho to the door, and then he is closing the door after him and suddenly, with a blush creeping up on his neck, he realizes that his new roommate had been extremely attractive and probably very, very straight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape, or form condoning sexual abuse/rape/violence. This is a work of fiction that was brought on by personal experience with anxiety, sexual abuse, and artistic license. Also, I do not have dissociative identity disorder, nor know anyone who does. This may not be an accurate representation of DID. Again, artistic license.


	3. Part I - Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taemin’s birthday comes in a blur of alcohol and empty message folders.

While Taemin doesn’t actively search out Jongin again, he is slightly miffed when he doesn’t see him again for another three days. By then, though, Taemin’s heart falls and sags in the wire mesh netting he’d made for himself when, on the third day, he meets eyes with Jongin in the the quad and Jongin gives him a tight smile before turning on his heels and walking in the other direction.

Taemin knows that Jongin probably feels downright horrible for initiating contact the other day and launching him into a panic attack, but he figures that the boy just needs some time. After all, he did tell Jongin that he forgave him. He just hopes that Jongin realizes he forgives him for this, too.

On Friday, he gets a call from Minho just as he’s getting off work from his first job.

“Hello?” he calls into the receiver and ties up his apron on the rack. The only other person in the employee work room is an older woman who’d been a waitress at that particular restaurant since he had come there with his parents at the age of five. He knows she won’t care he’s on his phone.

“Taemin? This is Minho,” the voice questions back. “Are you free today to check out the apartment?”

“Sure. I’m actually getting off work right now, so it might take me a bit, though. Can you give me directions?” Taemin asks as he fiddles with the sticky door and sends the older waitress off with a wave. She nods in reply.

“Actually, I can come pick you up if you want. I have a car,” Minho tells him, causing Taemin to pause midway through the door. He didn’t know if he deserved this type of luck.

“You have a _car?”_ he repeats, and Minho laughs on the other side of the line.

“Yeah, but it’s nothing special. Just a clunker graduation present. So where do you want me to pick you up?” Minho asks him, and Taemin eagerly gives him the address of the restaurant where he washes dishes.

Minho picks him up fifteen minutes later in a used sedan with slightly chipping paint, but it’s better than taking the bus and switching routes six times to get to the university. Minho turns the radio on to a pop station, and Taemin doesn’t know whether he turned it to this because he likes it or because he thinks Taemin will like it. Either way, they don’t talk much other than filling each other in on their week and Minho describing the apartment.

When they get there, Minho leaves the car in the resident car park, and Taemin squints at the sign that reads “Prospective Renters Only.”

The complex is much nicer than Taemin’s current place, and he finds himself craning his neck with a dropped jaw at the apartment. It’s a little two-bedroom thing with tall ceilings, a full kitchen, a balcony, and a living room area. He tries not to squeal in delight.

“What do you think?” Minho asks him when the landlord leaves them to mull things over. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter with his tan hands stuffed into his front jean pockets and Taemin resists checking him out further than he already is.

“It’s really kind of perfect,” Taemin says, walking over to inspect the single bathroom which has ample space for both of them to put their stuff.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Minho says, coming up behind him, and Taemin freezes because he can feel the other man’s breath on the back of his neck. He glances at their images in the mirror and sees Minho innocently examining the rest of the bathroom, and his shoulders relax. He wonders how into skinship this guy is, because he’s awfully comfortable not even a week after meeting him, and Taemin really doesn’t want to take any chances with his panic attack thing. He should set some boundaries.

“So... when do you want to move in?” he asks Minho instead, taking a step past him and back out into the living room. He hopes Minho notice him getting all bristly about the contact, and thankfully, he doesn’t.

“I guess we should talk to the landlord about that, but preferably in the next week or so. My current roommate found out that I met with you and threw a fit,” Minho says, and Taemin makes a face.

“Sounds like a nice guy,” he states dryly, and Minho laughs.

“I guess I’m making him out to be a lot worse than he actually is. He’s not that bad... he’s just kind of a diva sometimes. I lived with him all semester and I realized too late that we have very different lifestyles,” he says, and Taemin’s stomach does a weird flip-flop thing when he glides over the word _diva_ like he’s talking about burnt cookies.

“What do you mean?” Taemin tentatively asks, trying to get to the bottom of his meaning. He refuses to house himself with a homophobe, even if he’s nice, clean, and has a car.

Minho shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets again. “I like to keep things clean and he... well... let’s just say he’s going to be the one paying for the carpet getting steam-cleaned at the end of the rent contract.”

Taemin nods slowly. “That’s all? Just cleanliness?” he asks, prodding Minho to check for a change in expression, a grimace, a sneer--anything at all.

Instead, Minho looks up at the ceiling like he really has to think about it. “I guess you could say he and I are total opposites. He’s a night owl and I like to get sleep. He eats all the food I buy, but I guess I can’t complain since he usually actually cooks meals with it. I love sports and he’s only active when he brings people overnight, if you know what I mean,” Minho laughs, eyes glinting and Taemin laughs, too, because Minho had said _people_ and not specifically guys.

“I think we’ll be good roommates, then,” Taemin says, and Minho smiles in agreement.

Just then, the landlord comes back in and the two eagerly tell him they’d like to take it.

**********

A week and a half later, every single item Taemin owns is packed in brown shipping boxes and stuffed into the trunk and backseat of Minho’s car. Minho had already made a trip once with his own stuff and Taemin is very thankful for that because Minho’s car is not very big and Taemin owns a lot more stuff than he realized.

They arrive at the apartment around noon, and Taemin, who has taken the day off from work, immediately goes about unpacking and decorating the place. Minho busies himself with his own room and setting up all the electronic stuff--he makes upwards of ten calls to the landlord and the cable company about the wi-fi password, which, ironically enough, turns out to be the landlord’s phone number.

By the time Taemin is somewhat satisfied with the appearance of the living room and kitchen and decides to move on to his own room, there is a knock at the door.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Minho asks him as he walks to the entrance. Taemin shakes his head no and looks on with anticipation.

Minho looks through the peephole and, to Taemin’s surprise, lets out an unholy groan.

“It’s my old roommate,” he whines, and Taemin raises a brow. Minho pouts at Taemin, who is very unprepared for the sight, and watches as the door is opened to reveal a very attractive man with multiple piercings and dyed blond hair.

“This is it, huh? This is what you traded me in for, Minnie?” the stranger asks, frowning at the apartment. Taemin has the heart to take offense to the insinuation that the place he had just spent around three hours decorating is not to the man’s taste.

“Hey, Kim Kibum! I told you not to call me that!” Minho says sternly, and the stranger named Kibum is just about to retaliate when he sees Taemin standing awkward in the doorway to his bedroom.

“Oh! I’m sorry to intrude. I’m Minho’s old roommate, Kibum, but most people just call me Key. I hope Minnie’s not been giving you too much trouble,” he says and Taemin feels rooted in place because it’s his first time seeing someone with a copious amount of eyeliner in public and Taemin notes that _okay, he does kind of seem like a diva._

“None at all,” Taemin reassures the man, and the latter breaks out into a brilliant smile. Taemin decides he still thinks Minho has the prettiest smile he’s ever seen, but Key’s is a close second.

“Great! Well, if you’ll excuse us for a second I need to speak with Minnie here for a just a second,” Key says, and Taemin feels like the king of the outsiders. He’s not used to being talked to by more than one person at a time and is a bit overwhelmed, so he retreats to his room and scratches his head.

“Kibum, I told you not to call-” Minho starts, but Taemin closes his door to give them some privacy. He spends a good thirty minutes unpacking and is just about to go out and see if Key’s left when there is a knock on his door.

“Taemin?” a voice calls out, and Taemin knows it’s Key. He opens the door and lets the man in. “Could we talk for a second?”

“Sure, what’s up?” Taemin says, trying to be casual.

“Well, the thing is--Oh my God! Is that a Shinhwa poster?” Key suddenly bursts, and Taemin feels himself go bright red. “It _is!_ This is perfect. Are you gay?” Key asks, and Taemin is so thrown off-guard by the question that he actually drops his jaw and stumbles back into the wall behind him.

“W-well, I mean-” he tries to stutter, but Key waves his hands and cuts him off.

“I’m sorry. That was blunt. I’ve been trying to work on that, but I guess I’m not improving, huh?” Key says, and Taemin lets out a little cough. “Right, well, I guess it doesn’t matter, but I wanted to to tell you that Minho is...” he hesitates, waving his hands around, trying to find the right word.

Taemin can feel it coming, the word he’s been dreading. He knew this whole situation was too good to be true. Minho is homophobic and that’s why he wanted to get away from Key and now Key is here to tell him to get out while he still can and-

“He’s a tease,” Key finally says, and Taemin freezes briefly before tilting his head in confusion. “I’m not sure if he’s entirely straight or bi or _what,_ but there are times when he gets very clingy and touchy and the thing is... he’s very kind. He doesn’t even know he’s leading you on until you’ve developed feelings for him and have made plans to ask him out, but I guess that’s a whole different can of worms. What I’m _trying_ to say is that Minho is a fantastic person who doesn’t really understand personal space and likes to cuddle just a bit too much for a straight guy, you know?”

Taemin doesn’t know what to say, so he just nods. Minho’s behavior suddenly makes sense now, and he knows he’ll have to set those boundaries sooner rather than later.

“I’m just telling you now so you don’t get the wrong idea later,” Key says, and Taemin forces a weak smile.

“Thanks,” he says, and Key seems to be satisfied enough by this, because he soon says his goodbyes to both him and Minho and leaves them to their own devices.

Taemin spends the rest of the night as far away from Minho as possible.

***********

It takes Taemin two weeks to be comfortable enough around Minho for them to sit on the couch and watch TV together because Minho really likes to unconsciously scoot closer to Taemin just enough that their thighs and shoulders are touching and Taemin can feel the other man’s labored breathing when his favorite soccer team gets the ball. He very much understands why Key felt the need to warn him, and every time Minho ignores Taemin’s personal space, he sends up a silent prayer of thanks to the openly gay man who has become some vague, clouded wanna-be role model for him.

At first, it hadn’t been so bad because Minho was still adjusting to the new apartment and all, but as he became more and more comfortable with the surroundings, he became more and more comfortable with Taemin. It started off small, though, with light, feathery touches as Minho walked around him in the kitchen or living room; with knocks on the door and not waiting for a reply as Minho stepped into Taemin’s room to ask him which tie looked best for his interview; with hard chest muscle pressing against Taemin’s back as Minho reached above him to get a box of cereal and couldn’t be bothered to just ask the younger boy to move.

Gradually, Minho became even more comfortable, if it was possible, and Taemin was on edge a lot. He’d been grateful for the way their bathroom was designed--the shower tucked was tucked into an alcove with a sliding door--because he’d slipped back behind the tiled wall several times when Minho decided to brush his teeth or take a leak when Taemin was showering.

But Taemin knows there is no malicious intent in the way Minho scoots closer during a soccer match with the way his eyes glisten in the light of the TV, and he thinks he can deal with it just fine because Minho isn’t initiating any full-on contact. He’d also mentioned to Minho at the beginning of the week that he wasn’t one for skinship, and he’d seen Minho restrain himself thrice from reaching over and hugging Taemin at the prospect of a goal.

Taemin also realizes that this man might love soccer as much as, if not more than, he loves dancing.

Speaking of which, Taemin’s first dance “class” isn’t really a class, but a clinic for middle-school students he’d volunteered to help out with.

Taemin has re-arranged his working hours to afternoons and weekends to make room for his schedule, and also for when classes start in the fall. He’d had to shave off a couple hours from each job to squeeze in enough time for him to eat and sleep, but he knows he can manage because he’d faced much worse situations the first few months of living on his own.

The only thing he can’t quite manage is Jongin, who is also volunteering for the dance clinic. It’s early July now, and Taemin hasn’t seen Jongin for a number of weeks. Subsequently, the first thing he does upon seeing him in the line-up of volunteers on Monday morning of the clinic is stand by him as the instructor briefs them on what their roles will be.

He can feel Jongin’s discomfort and shoots him an easy smile, which Jongin accepts and seems to calm down a bit in response to. Taemin, along with all the other volunteers, learns the short routine they’ll be teaching the kids that day, and he can’t help but admire how Jongin makes the steps his own, no matter how simple they are.

Just before the kids are supposed to arrive and the volunteers have begun to talk amongst themselves, Taemin brings himself over to Jongin, set to say what he’d rehearsed in his head.

“Hey,” he says, approaching Jongin who altogether winces at Taemin’s presence. “Jongin, you should know that what happened in the courtyard wasn’t your-”

Jongin snorts and turns away from him, but stays in place. “Not my fault? You’re too nice, Taemin.”

Taemin scrunches up his brows and crosses his arms. “I’m serious, Jongin.”

The other boy turns to him, a snarl forming in his mouth and face. “I am, too. The nurse told me you had a panic attack. I hugged you and you had a panic attack!” he yells in a manner that attracts some momentary attention from the other volunteers, but they quickly become disinterested and go back to what they’re doing.

“I did, but it’s not because of you!” Taemin tries to reason. “It’s-”

“Kai, I _know,”_ Jongin says, and Taemin is suddenly afraid of Jongin--something he never thought he’d be. It was always Kai he was afraid of, not him.

“Jongin, it’s all in the past. Can’t we just focus on right now?” Taemin pleads, grabbing at Jongin’s light exercise shirt. The latter sends him a glare and shrugs his hand off him.

“I’m warning you now. Stay away from me,” Jongin says with a very strong sense of finality in the tone, and so Taemin obliges.

***********

Taemin’s birthday comes in a blur of alcohol and empty message folders. His parents do not congratulate him, and neither does Wonshik, unsurprisingly. He doesn’t think Wonshik even knows when his birthday is.

However, the bartender and staff at the favorite of the two restaurants he works at gladly congratulate him and send him on the bus filled with one beer, two shots, and a cocktail by the name of sex on the beach. He liked that drink the least.

It’s only when Taemin makes the third bus transfer does he realize he’d forgotten to add more credits to his public transportation card, and he also realizes, as the bus he was supposed to board leaves, he has no earthly idea where he is. The world around him is fuzzy and gray and he sits under the streetlamp on the sidewalk to catch his bearings.

There’s a big building in front of him with a sign declaring it as a law firm, but he’s never heard of the Soo, Jung, and Nam Group, so he decides that’s probably not the best marker. He tries to stand up, but lets out a bewildered giggle when his feet don’t want to work and he falls back down to the concrete.

Taemin doesn’t know how much time passes. It could be a couple minutes or a couple hours, but eventually he throws up and then curls into a ball because the sun has set and he’s only wearing thin pants and a t-shirt.

His mind wanders. Would his parents care that he’s lost and drunk on the side of the road on his twentieth birthday? Would Wonshik come and find him in the morning like that one time he’d stayed overnight in the music room? Would Jongin point and laugh at him for being unable to stand up? God knows Kai would. He shudders at that, a pain stinging at the base of his spine that makes him gag.

As his thoughts get darker, he finds that little tiny droplets of water have begun to come down, and he can only bring himself to start crying when the rain turns into a downpour. He wishes, more than anything, that someone would come find him and bring him home and his parents would scold him, but also realize that being with their own child is more important than their ideals and morals, but he knows that’s not possible, so he cries harder.

Again, he’s not sure how much time passes until he feels that he’s cried himself out and he’s suddenly extremely tired. The thought of trying to get up and find his way home is definitely out of the question now, so he tries to find comfort in the steady rain and sees pictures of Minho and their apartment behind his eyelids.

************

“Taemin?” a voice calls out into the darkness of his mind, and Taemin abruptly comes to, reeling and very nauseous. He throws up onto the floor beside him, taking note of the fact that it is, indeed, a floor beneath him and not concrete ground.

“We found him on the side of the road around two this morning, completely blacked out and soaked from the rain,” someone says and Taemin looks up and finds that 1) the light is far too bright for his liking and 2) Minho is looking in at him behind thick vertical metal bars.

Minho frowns, his brows creased in concern, but pays Taemin’s bail anyway, holding onto Taemin as he stumbles out of the holding cell.

As soon as they are outside of the precinct, Minho stops them and looks over Taemin, who is really, really desperate for some sunglasses right about now.

“What the hell happened?” Minho asks him, and Taemin realizes, with a start, that older man is angry at him.

“I think,” Taemin starts, noting how hoarse his voice sounds, “I got drunk.”

“You think?” Minho questions, and Taemin hangs his head.

“Yesterday was my twentieth birthday and the restaurant staff helped me celebrate,” he mumbles, and Minho scoffs.

“Was that your first time being drunk?” Minho asks him, and Taemin nods, unable to meet his eye. “The next time you drink, you’re not leaving my sight,” Minho states, and Taemin feels a very surprising round of butterflies well up in his stomach. “Do you know how worried I was? You never come home late, and the one time you were, you texted me and let me know the bus had gotten delayed. I seriously thought you got kidnapped or something,” Minho tells him, and Taemin really wants to go lie down in a ditch somewhere.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and at that, he peeks up and sees Minho looking at him with a strange mix of pity and disappointment, but also something else he can’t place, which is new because Taemin likes to pride himself on being able to read others.

“Come on,” Minho eventually says and sighs as he takes Taemin’s arm. The latter isn’t too bothered by this, which kind of shocks him, but dismisses it as just being too hungover to have a panic attack.

“Where are we going?” Taemin asks as they approach the car.

“We’re getting you a new phone,” Minho announces, and Taemin looks over at him in shock. “One with GPS tracking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape, or form condoning sexual abuse/rape/violence. This is a work of fiction that was brought on by personal experience with anxiety, sexual abuse, and artistic license. Also, I do not have dissociative identity disorder, nor know anyone who does. This may not be an accurate representation of DID. Again, artistic license.


	4. Part I - Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: ATTEMPTED RAPE/NON-CON; MENTIONS OF ABUSE AND SELF-HARM.
> 
> Idk why you'd still be reading this if you were triggered by those things?? But boy this chapter gets a bit heavy. You've been warned.

Taemin signs up to volunteer for the very last dance clinic of the summer with a swirling gut. The last clinic happens to be for kids ages 8-12, and Taemin knows that most of the kids will be on the younger side since, according to kid logic, once you’re eleven you can’t hang out with anyone younger than you. It’d happened to the kids older than him, it’d happened to him, and it will happen to every kid out there--that time when it’s no longer socially acceptable to go to summer dance clinics with a dozen eight year old _children._ All of this, for Taemin, means that the dance clinic will actually be fun--no pre-teen egos involved.

Taemin also knows that Jongin knows this. He’d seen his name on the sign-up sheet. In fact, he was the very first name on the list.

Dealing with Jongin in that first clinic had been no walk in the park. They had to work with each other the whole time, but everything was very distanced and suffocated--like Jongin and Taemin had no history behind them at all. Taemin wanted to punch him at times for being so inconsiderate toward his feelings, but it’s not like assaulting the guy would help their situation.

When Taemin heads into the clinic for training day, he’s the first volunteer to arrive--just like he’d hoped for. The instructor gives him a nod and continues on with practicing the routine they’ll teach the kids. Taemin slides down the wall in one of the corners and pulls out his new phone, courtesy of Minho.

Sometimes, he’d pull out his phone and check up on Minho’s location--just because he could. Now, though, Taemin is in a fluttery panic and refreshes his SNS to see if his favorite celebrities have any new content that could make him feel considerably less nervous.

He doesn’t get even as far as the third heading on Twitter before the door to the studio opens and Jongin walks in. He doesn’t look remotely surprised to see Taemin--in fact, his eyes simply graze over Taemin’s and make their way to the instructor. The two make small chit-chat for a while, but Taemin knows it’s forced on Jongin’s part. He knows Jongin is just itching at the thought of having to talk to Taemin. So he approaches first.

“Jongin? Can I talk to you for a second?” Taemin asks quietly, carefully interjecting when the conversation between Jongin and the instructor lulls.

Jongin hesitates for just a second, but in that second Taemin can see the simultaneous fear and hope in his eyes. “Sure,” he says, giving the instructor a tight smile before walking away with Taemin.

“How have you been?” Taemin asks him, and Jongin visibly flinches.

“Fine,” he replies, “You?”

“Pretty good. I got a new phone the other day,” Taemin responds, and he can tell sense Jongin’s increasing discomfort at the small talk.

“Look, Taemin. I don’t know what you’re doing, but I thought I told you to stay away-”

“I don’t want to stay away,” Taemin says carefully. He can hear Jongin’s audible sharp intake of air. “I want to fix things. I want you to understand that I truly don’t blame you for anything, and I want us to be friends... or at least, try to be. Is that so much to ask?”

Jongin’s eyes search his and all Taemin wants to do is tell him how his eyes are still the prettiest of anyone’s he’s ever seen.

“Let me think about it,” Jongin answers finally, dropping his eyes.

Taemin breaks out into a smile. “Good enough for me,” he says, and suddenly he doesn’t feel so nervous anymore.

**********

The next morning, Taemin bumps into Minho in the bathroom. Literally. Minho’s dripping wet from the shower with nothing but a towel on his lower half, and Taemin feels his face heat up.

“Oh, sorry. You okay?” Minho asks him and Taemin hums in response, gently shoving past him to get to the sink. If there’s one thing Taemin’s learned about Minho, it’s that the man has no idea when it’s appropriate to back off. “I would’ve asked if you wanted to shower together, but you were still asleep when I got up,” Minho says, and Taemin feels like breaking his toothbrush in half. In all honesty, Taemin would have thought Minho was hitting on him if it weren’t for Key’s warning.

“It’s fine. Thanks, though,” Taemin replies and proceeds to distract himself by pressing the brush a bit too hard on his gums. If he didn’t know any better, he would think Minho was staring at him in the mirror.

“Hey do you wanna get pizza tonight? I finally landed that job I wanted, so I figured we could celebrate,” Minho suggests and Taemin grunts and gives him a thumbs-up in the mirror. Taemin turns and contemplates if he should floss, use mouthwash, or both, and when he turns around Minho is still there. Taemin raises a brow at him, and Minho, as if he’s been caught doing something wrong, jumps slightly and smiles weakly before waddling out of the bathroom.

**********

Taemin is not the first to arrive at the studio that day. He’d planned on being early and getting there even before the instructor, but it’s as though the boy sitting directly opposite from him read his mind and thwarted his plans.

“Taemin,” Jongin says when he sees him, getting up and making his way across the wooden floor. As he passes under the window, the light dapples his features and Taemin really, really wants to brush his hair out of the way so he can see more of Jongin’s tanned face. “I thought about what you said.”

“And?” Taemin interjects hopefully. He can see something akin to youthful joy in his eyes and knows the outcome of the situation before Jongin announces it.

“I think I’d like to be friends,” Jongin says, and Taemin smiles. It’s the first time Taemin’s really smiled in a while, but that’s not what he thinks about. Instead, he’s thinking about all the possibilities of the future: practicing routines with Jongin; getting pizza and ice cream at the diner just a couple blocks away from the studio with Jongin; laughing with Jongin over something that happened in class and hiding it from the other students because they’re just too loud.

“That’s great,” Taemin remarks, and then they launch into a discussion about the routine they’re going to teach the kids and what the kids will be like, and Taemin makes sure to point out how most of the kids will be on the young side.

“Oh,” Jongin says when the conversation hits a low point, “I was wondering if, um, you’d like to hang out tonight? You can meet my roommate and we can all order in or something.” He rubs the back of his neck like he’s slightly afraid of rejection and Taemin wants to pull his hand away and rub circles into his palm.

“Sure. Sounds like a plan,” Taemin replies, and he doesn’t miss the way Jongin’s eyes light up at his response.

In the next moment, the instructor walks in and eyes the pair of boys before plugging in the boombox and telling them to get out the kids’ name tags.

Their hands meet accidentally as they pick out the box from the storage closet, and Taemin feels a stir in his chest when they don’t pull away immediately.

***********

It’s not until the kids have gone home and Jongin is talking about the bitch of a teacher the studio had before their current one does Taemin realize something is off. They’re in the dorm complex where Jongin lives and Taemin feels queasy and itchy, like he’s not only forgotten something but he’s gotten himself into something with far worse consequences than the first thing.

“Instructor Ahn is really something else, don’t you think? She helped out that one kid today who was doing everything backwards. And she’s so nice, you know? Our department’s pretty fortunate. I just hope she’ll be that kind when school starts,” Jongin says, and Taemin nods, only half listening as they enter the dorm.

“Yo, Jongin! Did you remember to get toilet paper?” a voice welcomes them as they walk in. Jongin slaps his hand to his forehead.

“Shit, bro, I’m sorry. I forgot,” he says, and a face appears around the corner. “Oh, Sehun this is Taemin. Taemin, this is Sehun, my roommate. We’ll all be dance majors starting in the fall.”

Taemin waves to the kid named Sehun in greeting and the boy smirks. “Oh yeah? Are you any good?”

“I... I mean I think so. I got into the same class as Jongin,” Taemin says, scratching his head. Sehun nods slyly.

“Nice,” is all he says before his slips back around the corner into what Taemin guesses is Sehun’s room. Sehun, Taemin decides, reminds him of a weasel.

“Sorry, he’s just... well, he’s Sehun,” Jongin says and guides Taemin further into the dorm. Taemin can tell the interior had been painted a stark white, and while the dorm probably started out as clean and pristeen, the walls are covered in dirty socks and trash. Overall, it’s pretty small and basic and Taemin is very, very grateful for living off-campus. Jongin’s probably paying double what he is for something just as good, if not worse, than what he has. If he had Jongin’s kind of money, he wouldn’t even need Minho- _shit. Minho._

“Oh my God. Jongin, I’m so sorry, but I forgot I made plans with-”

“I’m gonna go get toilet paper at the store. You need anything?” Sehun asks Jongin as Taemin is in mid-sentence. Jongin’s eyes flicker back and forth between the two before mumbling a “no” and waving him away. Sehun shrugs and brushes past Taemin who feels very, very small in comparison to Sehun’s tall build.

“What were you saying?” Jongin asks him when Sehun closes the door behind him.

“I made plans with my roommate tonight and I totally forgot. Can we take a rain-check on this?” he asks, feeling horrible, and not just because he’d forgotten about Minho. Something is very off about Jongin and he can’t put his finger on it.

“Oh,” Jongin starts, his entire posture falling, “Yeah, sure. It’s no problem. Just let me use the bathroom and then I’ll walk you to the bus stop, okay?”

Taemin nods, grateful that Jongin understands. The air is cold and Taemin feels a slight tingle in the base of his spine that is telling him to _get out of there._ But he forces the instinct down and sits on Jongin and Sehun’s couch in defiance of the little voice in the back of his head. Everything is going great with Jongin and he doesn’t need to have another attack in the middle of his new _friend’s_ dorm.

He puts down his bag and takes out his phone to let Minho know about his slip up and that he’d be home soon when he hears a clatter and a shout from the direction of the bathroom. His heart drops into his stomach, but he gets up immediately, throwing his phone on the couch, knowing Jongin could be hurt.

“Jongin, are you okay?” he calls as he approaches the bathroom door.

“Yeah, fine! Just give me a second!” Jongin calls back from the other side of the door, but his voice is strained and garbled.

“Jongin, are you sure you’re okay?” Taemin asks, feeling suffocated. From the other side of the door, a new sound comes through and Taemin jumps a foot in the air. He would recognize the sound of glass breaking anywhere. He hesitates, his heart beating up in his throat, and tries to see clearly through the haze that has fallen over him. “Jongin! I’m coming in!”

There is a muffled cry of “No!” and Taemin’s heart pounds harder. He’s been through this scenario too many times and he knows deep down that he should start running in the other direction now so that he has some hope of getting away unscathed. But he has to see for himself. He has to know. He has to.

When he opens the bathroom door, Taemin is first greeted by the broken glass on the tile and the bottles and soaps and toiletries all scattered on the counter and floor. Jongin’s forearms are leaning up against the wall in the shower stall, his back to Taemin, who notices that the other boy is shaking and panting.

“Get out.”

Taemin is assaulted by the voice, which is silly, he thinks, because voices and sounds cannot attack him. Yet he still feels the bile rising in his throat, the cotton filling his ears.

“Jongin?” Taemin calls out in a last-ditch effort of hope.

The boy in the shower stall turns slowly, as if he’s purposely dragging out their meeting. Taemin knows for a fact that he is. He can see everything about Jongin that isn’t Jongin--the glint in his eyes, the languid smirk on his lips, the whole way he holds himself up like he’s a panther on the hunt.

“It’s been a long time, Taeminnie,” Kai says, and Taemin is rooted still to his spot, frozen in place like a deer in the headlights.

“I... I thought...” Taemin says, blinking away tears that he wasn’t aware had accumulated in his eyes.

Kai grins, wide and wicked. “That I was gone? That Jongin had cured himself of me? Please, don’t insult me like that. It really hurts, Taeminnie.”

Taemin backs up carefully, fully aware of every muscle being moved, of every splinter of glass he’s walking on, thankful he never took off his shoes.

“He went to therapy. You’re not supposed to be here. I forgave him! Why are you here?” Taemin can hear the desperation in his own voice and winces.

Kai takes a step forward with every one of Taemin’s steps back. In a panic, Taemin turns and tries to run out of the bathroom and into the living room, so close to the front door, so close to freedom.

But Kai is hot on his trail and soon Taemin feels hot, calloused hands on his wrist and waist, twisting him to look into the eyes of his captor.

“Did you really think a couple trips to the shrink would get rid of me? That’s weak, Taeminnie, and you know it,” Kai says, his words dripping out of his mouth like honey. Taemin grunts and tries to get out of his arms, but Kai is just a bit stronger, his grip sure to leave a bright blue bruise on his hips. “Do you even know why I’m here?” he asks, and Taemin hesitates for a second.

“Because you’re a prick who just wants to see the world suffer?” Taemin spits in Kai’s face, reeling at the audacity within himself to say that. He can see the fiery gaze on his captor twist into one of resentment and hatred.

“That would be _you,”_ Kai spits back, digging his nails into Taemin’s wrist. Taemin sees a flash of red behind his eyes for a moment, tears springing to the surface at the acute pain. “You are a selfish, unloved, sorry excuse for a human being. I’m here because Jongin can’t _stand_ to be around you. I’m here because of _you!”_

The tears Taemin had tried to hold back spill over with an unceremonious sob.

“Stop it! Let go of me!” he cries, knowing that the words will fall deaf on Kai’s ears. “Please.. let go!”

Kai pulls him forward in his iron grip and moves one hand to curl around the side of Taemin’s neck, thumb pressed in the middle. The pressure on his jugular alone makes Taemin’s head spin. He’s not sure how he thought he was going to die before, but he really doesn’t view this as the most attractive way to go.

“I’m here fighting for Jongin. I always have been. You’re the bane of his existence, so I’m here to take you out. I will finally get rid of you once and for all, and then Jongin and I can live peacefully. Wouldn’t you like that, Taeminnie? For Jongin to live in peace? To be happy?” Kai asks, and then begins gliding his pink, wet tongue over Taemin’s jugular, replacing his thumb.

Taemin sees stars behind his eyes. Kai wants to kill him. _Kai is going to kill him._

“I want... Jongin to live... without... you!” Taemin chokes out as best he can. He knows Kai could kill him in an instant if he wanted to, but he’s keeping Taemin alive-- _teasing_ him.

Kai’s tongue slithers up to the shell of Taemin’s ear, and Taemin nearly pisses himself. He’d been mentally congratulating himself for not freaking out as much as he thought he would, if there’s any indication from the recurring nightmares he sometimes gets. But now, knowing that Kai is not only going to rob him of any recently-acquired dignity, but also _kill_ him, he can’t stand it any longer. In the past, when Kai would do unspeakable things to him and scathe every millimeter of his existence with disgust and shame, he wouldn’t put all his effort into getting away. Because somehow, he always held out hope that Jongin would come through for him and take Kai away.

But now he knows that had been unreasonably foolish. And now his life is on the line.

“Let go! Help! Help me!” Taemin begins to shout, writhing in Kai’s grip. The hand around his neck squeezes tighter, but, to his own surprise, Taemin kicks out, landing a sharp jab in Kai’s stomach that has him doubling over. The hands around his neck are immediately released, and the only thing Taemin can think about is how much that will hurt Jongin whenever he gets back.

Taemin, seeing Kai momentarily winded, runs to the direction of the entrance and is centimeters away from the doorknob when he feels the grip on his hip and shoulder. In a blur, Kai rams him into the door, effectively crashing Taemin’s head into the wooden door with a loud _crack,_ and Taemin’s vision goes black for a second.

He knows he’s concussed when he comes to only a few seconds later and Kai has two and a half heads. He feels his body being moved left and right--even feels himself moving his body, struggling to gain freedom--but he has no attachment to the situation.

Kai slams him into the wall next to the door and takes him down into a wrestling match on the floor. It’s short-lived, though, because Taemin can’t seem to make his limbs actually _move,_ so within seconds Kai is hovering over him, grinning wickedly and pinning Taemin’s hands over his head.

“Please...” Taemin tries to say, but it comes out somewhere halfway between a whine and a grunt.

Kai laughs in short bursts of staccato air, a bit of drool beginning to drip from the corner of his mouth, and while Taemin knows he should be gripped with fear and planning ways to escape, all he can think about is how much Kai looks like a hungry dog.

“Since you asked nicely,” Kai drawls, his eyes going wide with sudden lust, “I’ll give you a bit of pleasure before your punishment.”

Taemin winces. He’s all-too familiar with the way Kai’s hands rake over his covered chest and begin to slide off his shirt. It feels like another lifetime since this, too, but he knows that it wasn’t all that long ago at all by the way he involuntarily responds to Kai’s touch.

He’s always hated this part. In fact, he hates this more than the name-calling, the pain, the bruises, the stigma of everyone at school--the worst part is the self-disgust he harbors. He’d rather have Kai stick needles in his feet for hours on end than become even the slightest bit aroused, but after days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, he began to accept the inevitable feeling of Kai’s touch.

And so, when Kai twists one of his nipples harshly between his fingers after he’s gotten Taemin’s shirt off, he wants to shoot himself in the foot for the way his back arches in response.

“I missed this, Taeminnie,” Kai says above him, and Taemin cannot bare to look at him. He’s not sure what would happen if he did--whether more tears would come spilling out or if his eyes would glaze over in need--but he doesn’t want to find out.

“Kai, stop, please. If you stop right now, I can leave and we can both forget this ever happened. We can-”

“Are you listening to yourself, Taeminnie? You sound like a fag,” Kai says, and this time Taemin has the guts to sneer at him. “Oh, wait. That’s because you are one.”

Taemin wants, more than anything, to get up and explain to Kai why he, too, is a “fag,” but he knows that trying to talk sense into Kai is impossible.

Instead, Taemin lets out a sob and lets his head fall back onto the floor. Every place that Kai is touching him makes him feel dirty, used.

“Let’s get down to business, shall we, Taeminnie?” Kai says, and Taemin fears for his immediate future. The last time Kai said that was when Taemin pissed him off by trying to talk to someone in his chemistry class. Taemin had bite marks and nasty, electric blue bruises scattered all over his body for the subsequent two weeks.

Kai reaches for the waistband of Taemin’s loose dance pants and teases the bare skin with feather-light touches that has Taemin holding his breath. And then, with a sudden force that scares Taemin altogether shitless, Kai tugs his pants down and places his weight on Taemin so that they are eye-to-eye once more.

“This is for Jongin,” Kai says, and instantly Taemin feels like a fire has just been lit underneath him. He never really understood if Jongin remembered everything Kai did to him, or was even aware of it all in the first place, but suddenly Taemin knows that Jongin wouldn’t want him to stop fighting. He would want Taemin to give it his all--to defeat the monster that has been hanging over the both of them for years.

So he kicks out, thankfully taking Kai off-guard, and wriggles himself out from under Kai. He is almost in standing position, but doesn’t bother getting on two legs fully because what matters is _getting to the damn door._

Taemin has a firm grasp on the handle when exactly three things happen at once.

First, the door swings open with an unprecedented force and Taemin is knocked backwards, a sharp pain in his nose from where the door hits him. Second, Kai has him by the ankles and Taemin hears a sharp _crack._ Third, he hears a deep, guttural shout, _“Hey!”_

The concussion from earlier must have him going bat-shit because Taemin thinks he sees Minho of all people hovering over him and Kai.

“Get off him! What the fuck?” the voice comes again, and Taemin is, yeah, okay-- _pretty damn sure that is Minho._

“Who the hell are you? Get out of my dorm!” Kai yells back, and Taemin feels the weight of the body on him ghost away. It’s a nice, relieving feeling, and he’s desperate to maintain it. He rolls on his side and out of the way, trying to get a glimpse as to what’s happening.

He’s still not entirely sure if he’s hallucinating or not, but he thinks he sees Minho and Kai fighting about ten feet away from him. The door’s been broken and wood is splintered by the handle. He notes that his clothes are over there, too, when there’s a loud _thud_ that distracts him.

“Taemin! Taemin, oh my God. Are you okay? Actually, don’t answer that. We need to go. Where’s your stuff? Let’s _go,”_ Minho says in rush, pulling Taemin up to stand on both legs. Taemin wobbles for a second, but Minho positions Taemin’s arm around his shoulder.

“What... what happened to...” Taemin trails off, attempting to piece together the events of the last few minutes. He’s too goddamn concussed to understand everything right away, but when Minho points to Kai limply folded on the ground, he somewhat understands.

“He’s out. There was a baseball bat by the sofa. Don’t worry about him. Where’s your stuff? Do you know? Your phone and clothes? Don’t you have a bag from dance, too?” Minho says, and Taemin all but clutches his head at the speed Minho is going.

“Clothes... floor. Phone and bag... couch,” Taemin breathes, and Minho hesitates with how he’s supposed to get Taemin’s stuff while supporting him--which ends up looking like a confused potty dance--but eventually sets Taemin back down on the floor gingerly.

Taemin sees Minho moving around to gather his stuff out of the corner of his eye, but all he can focus on is Kai’s crumpled body by the entrance. What will happen when he wakes up? Oh God, he _is_ going to wake up, right? Will Jongin be okay? And how in the world did Kai not use the baseball bat on him? Oh God... was that how he was planning to off him in the end?

“Hey,” Minho’s voices cuts in, bringing him back to a clearer surface of reality, “Can you put your clothes back on?”

Minho hands him his shirt and, yes, he can pull the shirt over his head and slide his arms through the proper holes. His pants are another story, though, because that requires getting up. Minho must see the hesitation in his eyes because he helps him stand once again.

“Okay, right leg... Good,” Minho mumbles, directing Taemin, “And left leg. Good. Let’s get out of here.”

And soon they are traipsing down the corridor of the dorm complex and outside where it is windy and dark and Taemin feels completely repulsive. He clings to Minho as they stumble along, and he can only hope that they look like a pair of drunk students making their way somewhere. Minho is silent beside him, apart from the heavy breathing and mumbles of apologies every time they come close to another living being.

Taemin wants to scream at Minho, to ask him why he was there and why he saved him, but most importantly he wants to tell him how filthy he is. How he should just leave him there, used and  
wasted--because that’s what he is.

He’d fallen into this pit before and somehow gotten out of it--the pit where he realizes how disgusting he is for letting Kai use him and touch him and degrade him. The pit where everything is black and the darkness is _blinding._ The pit where he feels like eating nothing and hunting down razors from his dad’s bathroom--but that was a waste because Kai got mad at him for leaving a mark, when the only one who could touch Taemin was him.

And this time, he isn’t sure how he’s going to deal with the pit, because he sure feels disgusting right now, like Kai is still touching him at this very moment. Like Kai is leaning into him and tugging at his hips and--

“Taemin, we’re almost home. Don’t give up on me, yet, okay?”

Taemin’s not sure what to do with this. Minho is next to him, not Kai, he reminds himself, and he’s telling Taemin to not give up. What does that even mean? He can’t see clearly and his mind is still struggling to piece together everything that happened, but he can feel every brick in the wall he built himself during high school come tumbling down.

That’s probably what Minho means, even if there is no possible way he could know that.

That’s what Minho means, Taemin decides, and he’s going to try his best not to give up. Because the last time he was in the pit, he was alone.

This time, he has someone he’s leaning on, telling him to protect the last bricks in his stony defense. So he has to try his best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape, or form condoning sexual abuse/rape/violence. This is a work of fiction that was brought on by personal experience with anxiety, sexual abuse, and artistic license. Also, I do not have dissociative identity disorder, nor know anyone who does. This may not be an accurate representation of DID. Again, artistic license.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape, or form condoning sexual abuse/rape/violence. This is a work of fiction that was brought on by personal experience with anxiety, sexual abuse, and artistic license. Also, I do not have dissociative identity disorder, nor know anyone who does. This may not be an accurate representation of DID. Again, artistic license.


End file.
